


Thaw

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Jerry helps Jerry.
Relationships: Jerry(s)/Jerry(s) (Detroit: Become Human)
Kudos: 17





	Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Jerry’s voice box is broken, so he doesn’t shout like he used to, which might be for the best—it could bring wayward humans running. He can still _talk_ , just can’t call out to the others, like he can’t sense them in his mind—all their systems have sustained so much damage that most Jerrys can’t interface over long distances anymore. It’s a hard thing to accept, but Jerry accepts and continues, because he was built to adapt, albeit more to the wavering emotions of guests than his own bitter failings. There was a time when Jerry could close his eyes and light the whole park up with one stray thought. Now he walks through the snow-covered isles with a blinking flashlight, hoarsely wheezing, “Jerry...”

They have to check this way. It’s necessary. They can’t all be together all the time, because there are too many things breaking down in their once glorious haven—there’s just so much to _do_. Jerrys go out for inspections, for repairs, to scout, and they don’t always come back. Jerry ignores the heavy beams newly fallen from a food stand and instead looks only for _Jerrys_ : reduced to one job at a time. 

He turns the corner and spots a lone figure in the darkness. It’s deathly still, frozen solid, but upright instead of slumped over, so it can’t be human. Jerry can just barely see where the other android’s footprints depressed the snow. He gets close enough to examine the familiar frosty uniform and walks around to view the Jerry’s pale face, slick with flecks of snow and even dripping icicles. There’s no life in his green eyes. There’s a momentary pang in Jerry’s chest, a stutter in his pump, like there often is when he sees things this miserable. Jerry doesn’t deserve this. 

Jerry reaches out to clasp his shoulder, and Jerry comes alive, bursting in perfect verse, “Welcome to Pirate Island, me hearties! You’re going to have a whale of a time!” It’s the same speech Jerry has so ingrained in his own processors that it’ll probably long outlast any original thought. The other Jerry rushes through it again, only to stop halfway and slow to a grinding halt, once again frozen in place. 

Jerry touches his other shoulder, squeezes both, steps closer in between his outstretched arms and wraps around him, _hugging him_ , holding on tight. Jerry surges everything he is against the other Jerry’s chest and wills them together, forcing an interface on almost-dead systems. The reboot is sluggish and painful. The other Jerry shudders in his arms, circuits nearly sparking, overloading and struggling to keep up. Jerry murmurs in his ear, “ _Jerry_ ,” quiet but emphatic, heart-felt, _important_ ; he needs Jerry to remember his name. The other Jerry’s rigid posture relaxes just a fraction. 

When Jerry withdraws, there’s some light in those eyes, just enough for _hope_. Jerry’s fingers close around his wrist, tugging backwards, off towards the tavern—the closest place where they can share a fire. 

He promises Jerry, “We’re going to be okay.”


End file.
